


Lives in Grey

by GreyofAgarhoth



Category: Blood Horde/Agarhoth, Dagorhir, Foam fighting, LARP - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Backstory, Gen, Nobody cares about your backstory, Original Character(s), mostly original fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:27:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22115623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyofAgarhoth/pseuds/GreyofAgarhoth
Summary: The many lives of the being mostly commonly known as Grey of Agarhoth; Grand Inquisitor of the Blood Horde, Emissary of the Khan.
Kudos: 1





	1. An Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> This is the backstory for my Dagorhir (full-contact medieval-fantasy combat LARP) character. Most of the named characters are the game persona of real people and appear here with permission. My unit (sub group within the game) Blood Horde has an over-arching connected backstory. It will be referenced here but not fully published as our leader is the author of that work.

There are few beings living who do not find dealing with the Blood Horde at least somewhat unsettling. This is not merely a function of the strange mark, like a drop of blood that marks all their faces; perfectly visible regardless of the color of their skin or what that skin may be covered by. Nor is it an experience unique to those few who have witnessed Agarhoth make war and lived to tell of it. What is unsettling is that even when dealing with one of the Blood Horde that may appear to be of the individual’s own race there is a pervasive sense of otherness about them. Some who have had interactions with the Horde describe it exactly that way. Others will speak of moments when during conversation it seemed like something not human (or elf, fae, dwarf, goblin, orc, etc.) was looking out through the Blood Horde’s eyes. Those with the gift to see auras never speak of what they see when they look upon the people of Agarhoth; they merely shudder and make the sign(s) of their god(s).

Admittedly, many of the Blood Horde quite enjoy triggering these reactions in outsiders. The rest simply don’t care one way or the other. However, there is one being who occasionally manages to trigger these feelings in them. One of their own. This is his tale.


	2. Before the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before he was Grey he was someone else.  
> After he has been Grey he is someone else for a time.  
> This was the first. Before Grey existed.

Coraden Harmaa would have had an utterly ordinary life. As the first born son of a landed farmer he would have grown up working the farm, eventually inheriting it if he managed to avoid being conscripted into one of the ever changing armies fighting in the endless series of wars that had seemed to consume the world for all of human living memory. However, Fate had other ideas for Coraden was born with a Gift, one that showed itself even as a toddler. On his fourth birthday the course of his mortal life became set when two men in blue monks’ robes appeared at the farm. They offered a great deal of gold in exchange for the child . . . along with the implicit threat of utter destruction of the family and their lands if they didn’t accept the generous offer. Coraden’s parents, now the parents of several other children, wisely accepted the offer. The deal sealed with a handshake, itself laden with the threat to never seek out the child lest the aforementioned horrible fate befall the family, Coraden was whisked away by the two monks to a distant mountaintop monastery.

The order of Magi occupying the monastery had something of a unique distinction and reputation for each Magi and Acolyte had been chosen for induction, willingly or under threat, because they possessed one of any number of unique psychic gifts. This made fully trained Magi of the Order heavily sought after as either bodyguards or advisors to royalty and military leaders. However, there were those whose gifts suited them better to the purposes through which the Order truly maintained its wealth . . . spies, assassins, and inquisitors. 

Coraden was taken by the Bothers in Blue, those who used their gifts to find new recruits for the Order before the Brothers in Gray, the masters of the Order who confirmed their findings and his gifts. From there he spent the next six years under the tutelage of the Brothers in Green, the novice-masters, as a Brother in Brown, trained in the basics of using his psychic abilities and indoctrinated into the culture of the Order. Coraden excelled in his early training, quickly mastering his empathic abilities, rendering him impossible to lie to but more importantly awakening and honing what the Order saw as his more important gift . . . the ability to shapeshift based on what he sensed in the mind of another. By the time he was nearing the end of his novitiate it had become apparent that there was a squabble going on as to which branch of the Order would claim him as an Acolyte; the Brothers in Black, the spies and assassins; or the Brothers in Red, the inquisitors. In the end the decision would be made when Coraden secretly, and in violation of normal protocol approached the First Brother in Gray, the ultimate leader of the Order and requested to be Red, his questing mind drawn to the arts of interrogation.

As expected Coraden excelled as a Brother in Red, rapidly completing his training and moving quickly through their ranks. By thirty-five he was First of the Brothers in Red, by forty-five he was a Brother in Gray, and on his fifty-eighth birthday he would ascend to First again. For nearly twenty years he led the Order through the worst of the endless wars, and to their greatest profit and prestige . . . until one day everything changed.

Coraden had heard, of course the rumors of the lone king and his tiny entourage that had been seeking the great Crimson Dragon, the immortal Dragon-Goddess who had been said to have shaped the races of the world, humankind especially from Her own Blood. And whom legend held had been imprisoned by her eternal Mate, the Shadow Dragon who sought to make the world a fit place for His creatures, the Shades. An act that it was said had triggered the endless wars that ravaged the world. Coraden had dismissed these tales. Not that he didn’t believe the information the Brothers in Black brought to him. No, he did so because in his lifetime a dozen kings, princes, and warriors had tried the same quest, never to be heard from again. The world was as it was, all one could do was make the best of it.

However, now Coraden questioned that logic as the world seemed to hold its breath. Quick mental communication with brothers across the world revealed that every battle, everywhere, had suddenly stopped and no one knew why. Storms had ceased. Even the usually most wave crashed coastlines now only saw still water, and the air throughout the world was still. Coraden, still an inquisitor of the Red at heart, reached out with his mind to find an answer . . . and the mind that looked back at his almost destroyed him with its gaze.

Coraden fell to the ground from the sheer force of the mind that looked into his. He knew . . . he KNEW that this was one of the two Great Dragons. But great did not even begin to describe them. It was OLD. Old beyond comprehension. Older than gods, older than space, older than time.

Blood poured from his ears and nose and pooled on the floor. He coughed up great bouts of blood and it spread out beneath him. So much blood. So much more than a human body contained. The blood spread out across the floor, deepening, filling the room, pulling Coraden down into a deep, dark sea of blood. In seconds he was completely submerged . . . but he did not drown.

He could feel them, two incomprehensible serpentine shapes moving through blood and darkness all around him. But now the minds were veiled, guarded, seeming to be trying not to harm him. He could sense others. Dozens, maybe more in the same situation. All being evaluated and judged. Finally, it was his turn. He could feel Their attention upon him. He could no longer tell if They were trying to keep him unaware of Their deliberations, if the sheer power of Their minds meant that there was no way he couldn’t hear Them, or if They just didn’t care if he did.

**_“THIS ONE?”_** The voice made Coraden feel cold and awakened a child’s fear of darkness within him.

**_“YES.”_** This voice made the blood heat in his veins. It was also clearly angry at the other voice.

**_“TO CONTAIN THE SHADE OF TERROR, TO BEAR THAT KIND OF POWER? HE IS AN OPPORTUNIST. A MERCENARY. GREEDY AND SELF-SERVING. HE TOOK PLEASURE IN DESTROYING MINDS. THERE IS NO HONOR TO HIM.”_ **

**_“HE IS THAT WAY BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT HE WAS MADE TO BE. BUT YES, EVEN WHEN THE CHOICE WAS HIS OWN, HE WAS AS YOU SAY. HOWEVER, HIS GIFTS ARE TIED TO HIS SOUL AND WILL SERVE CONTAINMENT OF TERROR WELL. WE HAVE FOUND NO OTHER THAT CAN MANAGE THIS.”_ **

**_“BUT WHAT HE MAY DO WITH THAT . . .”_ **

**_“LIKE ALL OF THEM, HE WILL BE BOUND TO THE KHAN, AND THE KHAN WILL BENEFIT FROM HIM AS AN ADVISOR AND EMISSARY. BUT THERE ARE OTHER SAFEGUARDS THAT CAN BE EMPLOYED, AND PENANCE TO BE PAID. HE WILL BE POSSESSED OF MEMORY. HE WILL REMEMBER THIS LIFE. HE WILL KNOW WHY THEY ARE WHAT THEY ARE AND REMEMBER FULLY WHY THEY ARE NECESSARY,”_** this felt like a pointed accusation at the darker voice. **_“AS WELL AS HIS OWN SINS.”_**

**_“AGREED.”_ **

Something else moved in the blood and darkness. A form that wasn’t a form, like a piece of the darkness itself tore away and moved towards him. It had no defined shape but seemed like every nightmare shadow that plagued Coraden’s sleep when he was just a child. Chills like those that followed a nightmare wracked Coraden’s body. Worse still, as it came closer his mind was flooded with the echoes of the terror that filled the minds of all his subjects . . . all his victims as a Brother in Red after he was done with them. This shadow, the Shade that was Terror itself, reached out and Coraden stopped being Coraden.


	3. The First Incarnation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ain't your hobbit's Mirkwood

Grey of Agarhoth awoke just as the first light of dawn began to be visible through the small window in the door of the vardo. He rose, cleansed himself, and dressed in what his fellow Blood Horde referred to as his “talking garb;” clothing specifically chosen to be as culturally neutral and inoffensive to as many races as possible. This was the garb Grey wore in his role as the Emissary of the Khan. However, because of this he took one risk with these garments, their color . . . the red and black of Agarhoth.

Today Grey would be taking temporary leave of his siblings of the Horde on a mission of diplomacy. However, first there were the normal rituals of daily life in the nomadic kingdom of Agarhoth to attend to. He exited his vardo and headed for the central fire. There, in a heap near the embers were the Orc-born members of the Horde. Grey inspected the various limbs sticking out of the pile until he found an arm belonging to Frost Orcaller. He grabbed the arm and gave it a shake.

The pile of Orc-born shifted and from within the mass a gruff yet groggy voice asked, “Whaaaa . . . who risks death awakening me?!”

“The one who risks death every morning greenskin,” Grey responded, knowing that without an actual crisis to motivate him Frost was at least an hour away from achieving murderous.

“Uggghhhh . . . morning already?” the voice from within the pile of Orcs responded.

“Yes. Now rise and stoke the fire. The Khan and his family will wake soon, and he will want a fire.”

The pile shifted again, and Grey knew from long experience that Frost was poking whomever in the pile he could poke. “Fire.”

A growling mumble was the response.

“Fire!” Frost growled.

It was Tater’s muffled voice that responded, “Can’t fire. Sleeping.”

Frost now appeared to be trying to kick Tater despite his legs being pinned by the mass of Orc-born, “Lazy greenskin! It’s your turn!”

“Nope. Sleeping,” was the reply.

Grey slipped away, not needing to stick around for the ritual that would follow. The argument would escalate. All the Orc-born would wake. There would be a scuffle, sides would be taken, weapons drawn, threats made . . . and then the Khan’s pre-waking snore would issue from the Royal Vardo, resulting in a surge of cooperative effort that would see the fire stoked and rebuilt into a blazing bonfire in mere moments.

Grey continued his morning rounds, greeting his fellow Blood Horde as the exited their vardos, carts, and tents and taking his morning meal with a Caravan family. Comprised mostly of mortal humans that had been found by the Horde as refugees; worthy survivors of fallen kingdoms Agarhoth made war against; or rescued slaves what was referred to as Caravan made up the largest contingent of Agarhoth. The Blood Horde kept them safe and in return they managed much of the day-to-day functions of the roving kingdom. This was important, because time is a strange thing to an immortal, even more so a group of immortals. A single day could be made to seem an era, but years would pass them by in the blink of an eye. The mortal existences of the Caravan helped keep them grounded in how most other peoples experienced time.

Grey considered all of this as he ate his morning meal. The woman, Tanlia who prepared his food was a young maiden when, while on one of his diplomatic errands for the Khan Grey had stumbled upon the slaver who held her and several others. Now, while the Blood Horde did not have any overarching objection to slavery, they still viewed slaves as thinking, feeling beings deserving of the same respect as any other. Any slave purchased by one of the Horde could, and did, earn their eventual freedom. The Caravan was filled with the descendants of such former slaves. However, this slaver, as was too often the case with his kind, had more respect for insects. Grey took offense, his Shade took over, and the slaver and his minions found themselves dismembered. The other would-be slaves had run the moment Grey broke their bonds, but Tanlia had stayed, offering herself to Grey in payment. Grey could sense the pain in her . . . while the slaver had maintained her maidenhead, knowing he would fetch a better price for her, he had made it quite clear to Tanlia what she would be sold for. Grey declined, making sure she understood he had no need of those services by any who would be compelled to call him master, but that he could use a maid and cook. And that as his servant, he stressed that term, she would be under his protection and no man would touch her without her choosing. She agreed and had been seeing to Grey’s needs ever since. To Grey that day seemed as if it was only a few years ago, however Tanlia was now a white-haired great-grandmother. Matriarch of a large clan within the Caravan. Despite her years, she still insisted on preparing and serving Grey his morning meal.

Tanlia, her duty completed sat next to Grey at her cook-fire. It was a slow process for the old woman, going from standing to seated, especially as she paused several times in the trip to instruct one of the adults of her clan or to admonish one of the many, many children running in and around her camp. Long ago, when she was only a mother Grey had been able to keep track of her progeny, all nine of them. Keeping track of the grandchildren was much harder, since the smallest family her children had produced numbered at five. He completely gave up when the great-grandchildren started arriving. Not Tanlia however. She knew all of them, and everything about all of them. Nothing, nothing escaped her gaze. Grey smiled at all of this. This is why he ate here every day . . . the sheer mortal normalcy of it all.

Tanlia, for her part, took a long draw off her clay pipe and then pointed out beyond the edge of Agarhoth, at the forest of large, ancient, close trees only a few hundred yards away. “So, you’re headed in there today Sir.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes.”

“Whatever for?”

“Ginsu-Khan has decided that it’s time we made allies, or, at least look at the possibility. And, who better for a band of immortals to ally themselves with but Elves?”

“But Mirkwood? From all we’ve heard in the towns and cities we’ve passed these last months coming here, they’re odd . . . even for Elves.”

Grey smirked, “Which makes them the perfect place to start. They’re odd in many of the same ways we’re odd. Their kingdom is not just made of Elves, meaning they’re far more open-minded than many of their race.”

“Open-minded would one way to describe it. Especially from what I hear of that king of theirs. Or would the better description be open-bedded?”

Several of the women of Tanlia’s clan working around the fire gasped, and from somewhere there was a stern, “Mother!” Tanlia looked around and demanded, “What?!”

Grey, for his part, laughed and responded, “And this is why I am the diplomat, old friend. I know better than to say such things. Even if it is true that of Shatterhaze DerPanzer Altaireotter’s numerous children many are half-breeds born of many mothers. However, it is also true that many are adopted.”

Tanlia began to rise with a grunt, and two . . . Grey was going to assume grown grandchildren . . . men were at her elbows helping her to her feet in an instant. Tanlia seemed to ignore the assistance and turned to point the stem of her pipe at Grey, “Still don’t trust it. Something bad in the air today. You watch your back with them Mirkwoodians.”

“Don’t I always?”

Tanlia snorted, “Oh ho! Shall I remind you of all the times our great and glorious Khan has had to take on his Warform and ride to your rescue?”

“Only the twice.”

“More than enough.”

“I will be careful.”

“All that I ask.” And with that Tanlia turned back to running her family.

Another young woman, Grey was almost certain it was one of the elder great-grandchildren, took his plate and mug as he rose, and he took his temporary leave of Agarhoth.

Grey moved quickly on foot, with Agarhoth having camped only a few hundred yards from the edge of the Mirkwood there was no need to take a horse, and he would have had to leave it at the edge of the trees anyway. Mirkwood was well guarded, and not only by its imposing nature; Elven magics and the ingenuity of some of its residents made the wood a veritable fortress. Initial contacts had informed Grey that he would find two trees that had grown into one by walking south along the edge of the forest, and that by speaking the words, “Hail Barney,” in the common tongue he would find the path to the court of King Shatterhaze open and clear. 

It didn’t take Grey long to find such a tree. Two massive oak trunks rose from the ground only a few feet apart and grew towards each other, the trucks fusing at a point twice the height of a man above the ground, and then growing as one tree from there. In the space between the trunks at ground level there seemed impenetrable ground cover and thicket. However, once Grey spoke the words he was given, there was a path . . . an old Elven glamour. Grey began to follow this path, moving at a walking pace far swifter than a mortal could achieve, aware that he was being closely watched.

Even at his pace it took several hours to arrive at the Court of Mirkwood. A massive complex in the heart of the woods comprised of cultivated trees, caves, and other natural formations turned into a city in the forest. Grey immediately found the blue-skinned, blond King of Mirkwood to be an affable yet canny leader. Two days of meetings broken by feasts and other revelries followed, and an accord was reached. All that would remain would be left would be to bring the Khan here to finalize the arrangement. However, as Grey sat down with Shatterhaze for the midday meal his Blood Tear, the mark borne by all Blood Horde on the right cheek, blazed with pain. Grey clutched his cheek with the agony of it.

Shatterhaze almost leaped from his chair in alarm. “What is it!?”

Grey tried to collect himself through the pain, “Something . . . something is horribly wrong in Agarhoth. Your Majesty, I must . . .”

“Go,” the King responded before Grey could finish, “there is no offense.”

In a blur of black and red, Grey was on the move. Out of the palace, out of the city, tearing down the path to the edge of the forest. As he did so, his skin blackened and his eyes turned yellow, his Warform manifesting as his human soul retreated and the Shade of Terror, called by men the Jabberwocky, took the forefront.   
As swift as dread in the dead of night Grey sped through the forest, every animal and insect going silent as he passed, and out the gateway of Mirkwood. However, what he saw when he cleared the trees made him stop dead, as the bearer of fear knew dread himself . . . Agarhoth in flames.


	4. And So It Ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As noted in the summary at the beginning of this work Blood Horde has a collective backstory written by our leader, Khan Ginsu Hac Tao. The discussion between Coraden and the Emperor in this chapter is taken from that work.

Grey ran into the flames reaching out with his gift, trying to find any sign of life, any sign of a survivor. The silence he found was deafening. He collapsed amidst the flames, ready to let them take him, pounding the ground demanding, “How!? How could this happen?!”

A voice that could end or create worlds echoed in his mind in response, **_“DARK MAGIC AND BETRAYAL.”_**

Suddenly, Grey was surrounded by blood and darkness. He could sense Them moving around him, the two Great Dragons that created the Blood Horde. He could sense the male, the Obsidian Dragon quietly raging at some distance. The Crimson female, She of the Blood, spoke to Grey, **_“ONE WHO WOULD RULE A DARK EMPIRE USED EVEN DARKER MAGICS TO CORRUPT ONE OF YOUR SISTERS OF THE HORDE, MAKING OF HER A PAWN AND THE HAND BY WHICH YOUR BROTHERS AND SISTERS WERE SLAIN. HIS ARMY THEN SLAUGHTERED THOSE IN YOUR CHARGE AND MADE CAPTIVE THE PRINCESS. BUT FEAR NOT, FOR AS WE CREATED YOU, AS WE BOTH GIFTED AND CURSED THE BLOOD HORDE, WE HAVE ASSURED THAT YOU ARE HARDER TO DESTROY THAN THAT. AS LONG AS ONE EXISTS, THERE IS HOPE. AS TWO EXIST, EVEN THOUGH THE PRINCESS WILL HAVE TO PAY A PRICE, THERE SHALL BE VENGEANCE.”_**

Grey smiled grimly through his tears, as now the Obsidian Dragon spoke to him, **_“YOU WHO BEAR THE PAIN OF MEMORY OF MORTAL LIFE WILL NEED TO BEAR THE PAIN OF MEMORY OF IMMORTAL LIFE UNTIL THE MOMENT COMES. THEN THE PATH TO REBIRTH AND VENGEANCE WILL BEGIN.”_**

The vision ended and the flames began to die down. Grey’s mind was filled with the Dragons’ plans, but his attention was drawn to the sound of hoof beats. Rising and turning back to Mirkwood Grey witnessed the arrival of King Shatterhaze; his son, the Crown Prince Rain; and a dozen of the Arengweth, the King’s royal guard. The Elf Lord’s face betrayed his shock and dismay. He dismounted and approached Grey, “What happened here?”

“We were betrayed. However, ultimate responsibility lies with a human who seeks to be an Emperor of Men. Dark times come for the race of Man. But worry not Your Majesty, before this mortal can become a threat to the other races, Agarhoth will be reborn and he will pay for his deeds.” With a grim smile Grey added, “So, keep that treaty handy, we’ll be back to sign it in a few decades.”

Shatterhaze seemed to accept this pronouncement, but then asked, “Is there anything we can do for you?”

“Thank you, but that will be unnecessary. However, know this: within the year the Mirkwood will see its borders expand. In this place, where the Dragon-gifted blood of the Horde was spilled, mixed with the blood of the Caravan and the ash of our bodies and possessions, all that Agarhoth physically was, new life will take root. But be wary, for while the grove that will grow here will offer protection and healing to those who are in need and are worthy, any who enter with evil, malice, or greed in their hearts shall never leave it.”

Shatterhaze merely nodded. “And what of you, Grey of Agarhoth?” the King asked.

“Grey died with the Khan. I am, once and again, Coraden Harmaa. And as for me, the Dragons’ plans are already in motion. There is an ancient place, a relic of my old life that I will return to and await my part in that plan. However, we will meet again Shatterhaze DerPanzer Altairotter, King of Mirkwood. But when we do, I will no longer have this face.”

“Then I bid you well, may you find your justice.”

Coraden nodded and took his leave, knowing that this was beyond any concept of justice, that all that was left was vengeance. He declined any supplies or a steed, knowing that his needs would be seen to on his journey. As to his words to Shatterhaze: within a year the site of Agarhoth’s destruction was covered with large black-barked trees with red, teardrop shaped leaves that would come to be known as Blood Oaks. And as he had said, the leaves and sap of these trees possessed great curative properties but only for those in the direst need. Any who entered the Blood Grove seeking the trees’ gifts out of greed or malice were never heard from again.

It took Coraden several months and by the time he arrived at the monastery he knew so well from his first mortal life he was unrecognizable as having ever been Grey of Agarhoth. His hair was white, his face heavily lined, and the once vivid mark on his right cheek had faded to the point it looked like nothing more than an age spot. The final climb up the mountain was arduous, but he arrived at the monastery and found the doors opening to meet him. And older man in much more simple robes than those worn by the Order during Coraden’s rule stood there, wearing the necklace that marked him as First of the Order.

“I am Tellan Sloss, current First. As commanded by the Dragons, I welcome you and step aside.” He removed the necklace and placed it around Coraden’s neck.

Again First, Coraden found that the Order of his first life had become a true monastic community dedicated to the Obsidian Dragon and His children. Although his Shade seemed mostly dormant, seeing this appeared to please it. Coraden quickly sent spies out into the world, knowing that the day in which the Dragons’ plan would be set in motion were coming within mere years. 

The day finally came with the arrival the Emperor of the Southern islands, simultaneous to the arrival just off the coast of a vast fleet sent by him who had destroyed the Horde. A sight visible from the mountain. Cordaden was seated at the head of a great table in the main hall when a warrior Magi conducted the emperor into the hall and led him to a seat at Coraden’s left hand.

Coraden declined to speak with the Emperor until after the evening meal was served. Once the meal was concluded, he addressed their guest, “We know why you are here. The troubles of this nation do not exclude this mountain and we too have spies abroad.”

“As well as within I dare say,” retorted the emperor.

“Indeed, knowledge is power. If not, I suspect you wouldn’t have scaled this mountain.”

“Fair to say.”

“We have already made preparations to solve the problem, but we need some assurances from you. You must promise not to retaliate. This land has need of a good emperor such as you. It would be a shame if you should see an advantage in your enemy and capitalize on it. Lastly, and most importantly, this mountain is forbidden to be tread upon by armed soldiers.”

“I accept your terms, but how have you solved our dilemma?”

“The answer lies within the problem. The king of the enemy seeks an heir. We will give him one.”

“I don’t understand how that solves the problem,” puzzled the emperor.

“Of course, you don’t. How could you? You will just have to trust us.” As Coraden spoke it appeared to the emperor that a dark spot at the corner of his right eye became more vibrant, almost glowing red. “Fates you cannot possibly hope to understand have already been set in motion. There are things much older than you, older than this mountain, which would have things set right. The will of the Dragons will not be undone! Now watch from the western window and see the doom of your enemy. When the battle is done you must wait one day and then leave this place never to return. As for us, the Magi of this temple, we must pay a price in blood. As the Holy Shadows command, we will slay ourselves and rise again when the time is right. Our destiny lies with another people and another Lord.”

The Emperor left as instructed to view the battle. The younger Magi cleared the tables. One asked if Coraden would like to witness the battle as well. He declined, “I have seen the Will of the Dragons in action in ways you cannot yet imagine. And I have seen war on a scale hopefully forever in the past. I do not need to see either now. No, attend me to our resting place. Let the final task of this life be completed.” 

Coraden travelled, with assistance, to the great crypt deep within the monastery. It was filled with marble tables, one for each Magi. Laid out on each table was a dagger, its handle carved with twin dragons. The other Magi slowly entered the crypt, each took up a place at the table assigned to them, laid down, and then each sliced their own throat. Coraden bore witness to each death, knowing at that moment which of the Magi would have their promised rebirth as one of the Horde, and which the Dragons had already judged unworthy, their blood merely valued for feeding the Dragons. Coraden felt a slight twinge of guilt at this, but very little. The sacrifice was necessary, just as the Princess’s would be. Coraden watched as each Magi died, their blood flowing through channels to an abyss-like pool in the center. From that pool he felt, rather than saw, the eyes of the Obsidian Dragon upon him. In his mind, as he lay down and lifted the dagger to his own throat he heard, **_“SLEEP WELL, BUT BRIEFLY. YOUR REBIRTH AND VENGEANCE COME QUICKLY.”_** And with that, the tale of Coraden Harmaa came to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though it's not directly part of Coraden's story, I will share another bit of the overall backstory. The enemy fleet . . . the visiting Emperor got to see an aspect of the Obsidian Dragon manifest and wipe it out. He stayed a good ruler, but never really slept all that well from that day forward.
> 
> Wandering down into the crypt before leaving the monastery also wasn't very bright or good for his sanity.


	5. And Begin Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And they return . . .

Contrary to popular belief, the Hobbits did not always live separate from the “Big Peoples.” For centuries long, long ago the hills and vales of the Hobbits were shared with humans called colloquially and somewhat disparagingly by other humans the “Hill Folk.” The Hill Folk were frequently viewed as being uneducated, uncultured country bumpkins; however the reality was that their culture was strongly influenced by Hobbit culture and so they highly valued education, the rituals of civil society, as well as a strong work ethic tied to the earth with an equally strong relaxation ethic. So an average Hill Folk home, like those of their Hobbit neighbors, was filled with books, well cared for family heirlooms and household fineries, as well as bawdy humor that would make the world-weariest city bar wench blush.

Dor Grayglen had been born under numerous auspicious signs (and a few far from auspicious ones that polite people did not discuss) to a long-standing and well-respected Hill Folk family. He had taken to his studies with a passion and even though as the third child he would inherit little of the family’s lands or possessions his intellect, wit, and skill with words had resulted in an informal apprenticeship to the village mayor. It was clear by the time he reached his mid-20’s that when the mayor finally stepped down in a few years that Dor was his presumptive successor.

However, even though Dor presented to the community that he was dedicated and excited about this path with each passing year he felt more distant from his family and the community. He felt like a fraud. It had taken Dor until he was in his teens to realize that his ability to sense how others were feeling, and thereby divine their thoughts, was not a skill shared by others of his people or family. It was about this same time that he started having the dreams. Occasional at first, but growing ever more frequent as the years passed, until now he was having them every night. Dreams of Dragons, blood, monstrous entities, blood-soaked skulls, and an overwhelming sense of betrayal and loss.

It was amid his growing unease that a stranger arrived in the village. A giant of a man accompanied by a, well the others kept calling it a large dog because they didn’t want to acknowledge that it was first off, a wolf and secondly far better behaved than any of the village dogs. He took a room in the Inn and the owner seemed unusually disinclined to tell him his pet wasn’t allowed inside. The rumor mill began its turns, as it always did when a stranger came to town. However, the oddest response was from the elders of the village, both Men and Hobbits who took one look at the stranger’s face and nodded wisely to each other while muttering, “They have returned.” On the topic of who “they” were, the elders refused to elaborate.

The stranger, for his part was an affable gent. And agile despite his size. One of the few rumors running rampant through the town that seemed to have some evidence to support it was that he was some sort of wizard, and he frequently entertained the children over his days in the village with slight feats of conjuration. And, while the wolf had nothing but a baleful glare for adults it seemed more than happy to be fawned over by the children, even allowing some of the braver Hobbit children to ride him.

However, after several days with no indication of his purpose in the village the mayor decided to approach the stranger, accompanied by Dor. The first sign something was even odder about the situation than what the mayor or Dor had assumed was the wolf; who reacted to Dor as if he was a long lost friend, tail wagging and even jumping up onto his hind legs, throwing his forepaws over Dor’s shoulders and licking his face. How familiar the act and the contact felt unnerved Dor. As did the stranger’s face once the wolf was brought to heel and Dor looked upon it for the first time. But it wasn’t the face as a whole; it was the strange red tear drop shaped mark on the man’s right cheek, just below the corner of his eye that consumed Dor’s attention and brought the dreams of the last few years screaming into his waking mind.

As Dor tried to steady himself the mayor addressed the stranger and introduced himself and Dor. The stranger responded in kind, “And I am Ender Vilt.”

That was more than Dor could take. He felt as though he was drowning in a dark sea. As Ender looked on perhaps the mayor asked Dor what was wrong, but his hearing was filled with the pounding of his own blood. He tried to utter the words, “Excuse me, I’m suddenly not feeling well,” but was uncertain if he said anything at all as he rushed from the Inn and into the woods surrounding the village. 

Dor moved with an inhuman swiftness and even though only moments passed between his flight from the Inn and when he finally collapsed to the ground, he was miles from the village. His mind was flooded with images, names, faces, sensations . . . memories of completely different lives. And something else, something that stirred inside him. Something ancient, dark, and terrible but glorious in that terror. And then, just as Dor felt he could stand no more in a final, fateful moment of agonizing clarity Dor knew what was inside him was Terror itself.

Dor screamed to the heavens . . . a scream that caused every creature in the forest to run and every sentient being within one hundred miles, even though they could not hear the sound to shudder in fear. As he screamed a single drop of blood ran from the corner of Dor’s right eye and seared itself into his cheek. It was at this moment that Ender and his wolf caught up with Dor.

“Feeling better?” the wizard asked.

Grey spun his head around to glare at Ender, “Dragons damn you, Ender!” Ender was taken aback but Grey continued his rant, “I was maybe a week or two from waking up on my own, but you just had to be impatient!” Grey rubbed his temples, “That hurt like hell! And here I thought slicing my own throat was bad.”  
Now Ender was confused. He knew, instinctually that despite the change in physical appearance that this was Grey, Inquisitor of the Blood Horde and Emissary of the Khan. However, this was not the Grey he was used to. “Wait, when did you cut your own throat? Why do you seem so different?”

Grey sighed, focusing on Ender rather than the jumble of memories running through his head. He knew, he had been warned by the Dragons that for most of the others coming back to themselves, being reawakened into their nature as Blood Horde would wash away the lives they lived in the interim. They would remember the person they had been these last few years, but that identity was to be completely consumed by who they were before the Betrayal. But Grey had been cursed with Memory by the Dragons, the eternal penance for Coraden’s sins. “Because I am different Ender.” He could sense the man’s confusion. “You are Edner Vilt. The exact same Ender I knew for all those ages before the Betrayal. Whomever you’ve been in this incarnation prior to reawakening as Blood Horde is irrelevant. I know you remember the name you were given in this life, but does it still hold any meaning to you?” Ender shook his head. “For me, however, I am Grey of Agarhoth, the Grey you have always known, but at the same time Grey is now a collection of not only my experiences as Blood Horde, but the two mortal existences of Coraden Harmaa combined with that of Dor Grayglen.” Grey rubbed his temple again, “And, unfortunately for me there are aspects of Coraden and Dor’s personalities that are somewhat at odds with each other, so I may seem a bit off until I get this sorted. However, I should have more than enough time to get my psyche worked out before we get to the Khan.”

Ender seemed to consider this for a moment, and then responded, “Are you now going to make it a habit of discussing yourself in the third person?”

“Is it annoying?”

“Somewhat. Yes.”

“Then yes,” Grey responded with a cheeky grin.

“Well, you having a sense of humor is going to take some getting used to,” Ender responded jovially.

“I have always had a sense of humor . . . Dor just brings it down to your level,” Grey responded with equal humor. “And you’ll have plenty of time to get used to it, even at our pace we’re at least a month from reaching the Khan.” With that Grey took off in the direction of the reborn Ginsu’s mortal father’s capital city.  
Ender and the wolf jogged to catch up to him, “How do you know where we’re headed?”

“I know more about this plan than you do. I’m also pretty sure who we’re going to be able to pick up along the way.”

“How?”

“That part of the story covers the stuff the rest of you missed and is where me cutting my own throat comes in . . .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ender was a real person. One of the founding members of Blood Horde. He called himself "The fat ninja." And it was true. He was a massive guy who could disappear at will, and then reappear right behind you. He also had a lot of congenital health issues and we lost him several years ago. He will always be part of us.  
> One Blood. One Horde. All are Equal.


	6. Unseelie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sparkles da Faree is the Dagorhir persona of a real person  
> Trinian gra-Dushnikh is the Dagorhir persona and character of clevelandkiwi here on AO3 (https://archiveofourown.org/works/22099192)

It had been an intense few years . . . decades more likely since the restoration of the Blood Horde and the rebuilding of the Caravan. Death and rebirth unfortunately do not improve an immortal’s ability to properly track mortal time. Regardless, the wandering kingdom of Agarhoth had become known to the world again. As promised, Agarhoth returned to Mirkwood and the treaty was signed. If the members of Shatterhaze’s Court had any issues with the young human presenting himself as Grey of Agarhoth they did not show it. Afterall, he did warn the King that when they next met, he would have a different face.

The Blood Carnival; the festival of sights, sounds, delights and horrors the Blood Horde put on whenever they stopped near a village, town, or city had become even more important. During the first incarnation the Carnival was mainly a way for the Caravan to earn some money as they provided food and the work of craftspeople as the Blood Horde provided the entertainments. However, now the Carnival was a means by which the Blood Horde could continue to locate their missing siblings, as the concentrated presence of the Horde would invariably awaken their kind. There were also, of course, the usual assortment of runaway slaves and even royalty who, while not Blood Horde, would melt into the Caravan at the opportunity. And so, the legends of Agarhoth appearing in your lands being both a blessing and a curse were reborn.

One day, while Agarhoth was encamped in the great wooded midlands, the lands where both natural and constructed Fairie Rings were common, Grey was called to her tent by Queen Sparkles. Upon entering Grey was greeted not only by the Queen, but all the Fae-born Blood Horde. Grey had always felt a great deal of kinship beyond simply being Blood Horde with the Fae-born, as like him many of their forms had been chosen to enable them to contain Shades of Concepts or Emotions, rather than more literal entities like the Khan’s Oni-Shade. Normally the Queen was not one to worry about formalities, but today there was something serious in her demeanor, and so Grey bowed, “My Queen, I come as summoned.”

Sparkles acknowledged the bow and greeting with a nod and then gestured for Grey to be seated on a pillow. Once he was, she began, “Grey, as you know I rarely seek out your services as either Grand Inquisitor or Emissary. However, we are now in lands that border on the Fairie Realms and I find that I miss having a relationship with a Fairie Court. Of course, our options are limited as many of the Courts we all came from did not take kindly to our various departures, or to the Shades we bear. However, there is a Court, an Unseelie Court that would be a perfect match for us much as Mirkwood was.” Sparkles’ serious demeanor began to fade as she became excited by the idea. “Their King, Greybush is much like Shatterhaze in terms of a tendency to take in strays of any race. In fact, I hear his Queen is an Orc from a different Realm bordered by the Faire Realms. And, an Unseelie Court would be far less bothered by our Shades.”

“It sounds like an excellent match for an alliance, or at least a treaty of friendship,” Grey responded.

“Yes,” Sparkles smiled a bit coldly, “and a relationship of any kind with an Unseelie Court would dissuade other Courts that may not be happy with our departures from doing things out of that displeasure that we would be forced to make them regret.”

=====================================================================================

Trinian stared from the shadows of the Fae Realm at the strange human who not only blithely walked into the Ring well known to be a portal to their Court but seemed to have done so intentionally. 

However, the more they stared the more they realized that regardless of what this being appeared to be, it was not human. Within the bounds of the Ring, where realities blended and twisted together there was clearly something more to this creature; something pushing at the bounds of its flesh, contained by its spirit. And what's more that something was dark and terrible in a way that sung to Trinian's Orcish heart and to the Unseelie blood in their veins.

The Queen signaled their entourage to remain behind, dismounted, and entered the Ring. The stranger seemed unsurprised by Trinian appearing to materialize from between two of the stones, but as the stranger looked closer, he did seem surprised by something he saw. Trinian had entered Glamoured, so appeared human-ish. This being couldn't possibly have seen through that, could they? Trinian decided to go with their Orcish instincts and tried to assert dominance, "So, what the hell are you then?"

The stranger smiled and almost seemed to laugh. The strange red teardrop mark on his right cheek seemed to glow, "I could ask you the same thing. After all, it is not every day one meets an Orc hiding behind a Fairie Glamour and whose blood smells Fae, and I know a lot of unusual Orcs. But as I am on your doorstep, and you asked first, you may call me Grey of Agarhoth.” He bowed with a bit of a flourish and upon completing the bow continued, “I am Emissary of the Khan of the Blood Horde. On his behalf I seek the Court of the Unseelie Lord, King Greybush."

Trinian’s eyes narrowed and they almost lost hold on their Glamour, for with the announcement of name came knowledge, “And what would the Blood Horde want from the King?” Their hand was now near their sword and they knew that their entourage saw their posture change from the other side of the Ring and were preparing to fight at their side.

Grey raised his hands gently, “I come as Emissary and diplomat, to talk, nothing more. At our Queen’s urging the Khan seeks friendship, if not a full alliance with your Court. Particularly as we will be in the lands of this Realm that border your own for several more months. I am unarmed.”

Trinian relaxed, slightly, although observed, “It is my understanding that one of the Blood Horde is never truly unarmed because of what lives inside you.”

“True.”

“May I have the name of that which shares your soul?”

“Believe me, you do not want the name it calls itself. Men have called it the Jabberwocky, if that suits. But most simply call it what it is . . . Terror.”

“And your Khan makes the prison of Terror his Emissary?”

“It amuses him.”

Against their better judgment, Trinian was beginning to like this being. Their hand went away from their sword, they smiled, and gestured to their entourage to stand down. “I am Trinian gra-Dushnikh, the Ironfoot, Crone Queen of this Court. I will take you to my King. I have no idea how he will receive you, but regardless of his reaction I will likely be amused.”

“Story of my lives,” Grey responded with a resigned smirk.


	7. The Fairie King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, Greybush is the persona of a real person. I'm poking a bit of fun at him

Grey was escorted by Trinian into the Fae Realms and there met her entourage; a collection of individuals of several different species by birth, but whom all had been given Fae blood. The Crone Queen mounted her horse and commented, “You may find our Realm a bit disconcerting. Physical reality isn’t quite as static here as the Realm you are accustomed to.”

Grey looked around. Little things shifted, changed, slid in and out of natural Glamours, but nothing extreme. “I’ve been to less stable places,” he commented.

Trinian made a face that suggested she couldn’t decide if he was being honest or smart with her, so instead just offered him a place riding with one of her Retainers. Grey smiled, knowing that without any formal agreements in place it was far too early to be accepting anything from the Fae, “I thank you for the offer, but it is unnecessary. I can walk.”

Trinian smirked, this Grey of Agarhoth was clearly familiar with the ways of the Fae. He had evaded the trap of requesting his Name in a manner that avoided offense, and now dodged the offer of a Favor in a similar fashion. And so Trinian relented, “The offer was more for my convenience, as I would like to get to the Palace quickly.”

With the Obligation voided, Grey smiled and graciously accepted the hand up to sit behind one of the members of the Entourage. Trinian guided her warmare through a turn and then spurred her to a gallop. Being a creature of the Fae Realm, it moved far faster than any mortal steed could match, and they covered the distance between the Ring and the Palace in mere minutes. 

The Palace of the Court of Greybush was a massive complex of ancient trees melding into masonry and back . . . currently. Being the home of a Fae Lord, it was subject to its master’s whims and would change accordingly. The party galloped across the drawbridge and into the main courtyard. Stable hands quickly ran out to meet them, taking the reins from the riders, who then lightly dismounted. Grey did the same, taking a moment to smooth out his garments. A Page approached Trinian, bowed, and then accepted her sword and the half dozen other weapons she pulled from concealment in her clothing. Grey couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the ritual.

Trinian motioned for him to follow and chose to explain, “Greybush understands that regardless of being made Fae, I am what I am. I am loyal to him and love him deeply, but if he ever shows me his neck, I will not hesitate to do the proper thing and slice his throat. As long as he works to make it not easy for me, I’ll take it as one sign that today is not that day.”

Grey smiled grimly, “The orc-born among my kind have a similar attitude. Although they will be hard pressed to find a day that our Khan or his Oni-Shade would be so weak. And for us, a couple of decades later he’ll just show up again . . . angry.”

Trinian repressed a laugh. She was definitely starting to like these people through their emissary. She was of course aware of their alliance with King Shatterhaze of Mirkwood. It appeared that the stories were true, a kingdom of misfits becoming friends with a kingdom of misfits. Although she knew he wouldn’t make it easy, as that just wasn’t his way, Trinian also knew that Greybush would find it difficult to not feel kinship to the Blood Horde, his being a Court of misfts.

Trinian and Grey strode through the halls of the Palace, finally coming to the great double doors to the throne room. The guards, who for anyone else would open the doors to admit them, stepped aside. There were rituals of Courtly life, and Trinian gra-Dushnikh, the Ironfoot, Crone Queen slamming the doors open as she made her entrance into the King’s presence was one of them. The doors made a resounding double crash against the walls that reverberated throughout the Palace.

Greybush looked up from his seat on the throne, unfazed by the slamming doors. Grey was able to get his first look at him. He was beautiful in that way Fae nobility often was. A natural beauty enhanced by their magics that took it to a level Grey couldn’t help but label as obnoxiously, aggressively beautiful. As if eons ago when the Fae met the High Elves their response was “hold my mead.” This probably also explained why if the topic of the Fae came up around High Elves their expressions became as if they had just eaten something sour. However, despite knowing all of this, Grey was somewhat surprised. Many Unseelie tended to conform to mortal expectations of the so-called “dark Fae,” their appearances and demesnes shadowed and in muted or dark colors. However, Greybush’s Court was light and alive, full of color. The King himself had tousled blond hair, smooth features, and wore bright greens and silvers. The only give away of his Unseelie nature was his eyes, a most unnatural shade of black-ringed emerald. Eyes that were clearly designed to be unnerving. Grey’s response to them was to internally ask his Shade why they couldn’t have eyes like that in Warform rather than putrid yellow. Terror was unimpressed.

Trinian made formal introduction and then stepped aside as Grey prepared himself to spend however long the King chose dodging his Fae tricks before they could get down to business.


	8. Random Moments 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a drabble of a random moment of Grey's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All named characters in this chapter are the Dagorhir personas of real people.

Agarhoth came to a stop near a large, fortified port city. The perfect place to rest their animals, restock, provide the Caravan opportunities to ply their wares, and to find more of their own kind. As the roving kingdom engaged in the task of moving into encampment mode Grey set off into the city to deal with any potential diplomatic issues. However, unlike usual he took three of his fellow Blood Horde with him.

In the center of the rapidly forming camp, Ginsu HacTao, Khan of the Blood Horde sat on the steps of the Royal Vardo, smoking his pipe, surrounded by the Royal Court. Queen Sparkles busied herself draping the surroundings in tapestries, “making the place homey” as she called it. The Grand Vizier, Miach Agarnajad had found a tree to lean against and was smoking his own pipe while his wife Kiana Agarnajad, Gonji of the Blood Horde kept an eye on the construction of the camp and an ear on the conversation.

“There’s something off about this place,” stated Ginsu in his gravelly voice. He appeared an old, gray-bearded man, but the Oni, his Shade, was always just below the surface and his eyes reddened as he spoke.

Miach took a long drag off his pipe, removed it from his mouth and crossed his arms before speaking . . . a sure sign he shared the Khan’s concerns but was trying to come off as nonchalant, “True, but everything says there’s more than one of us here.”

The Khan grunted . . . the sound being the closest thing to the word yes that ever crossed his lips. “For once though, I dislike the idea of Grey going in alone.”

Kiana spoke up, “He didn’t go alone. He took the Unknown, Sammael, and Kaimailana with him.

Ginsu looked up, an expression of mild surprise on his weathered features, “He took The Soldier, the Fallen, and the Three-in-One with him? Is he expecting trouble or planning to start it?

The Gonji, the Vizier, and the Queen exchanged a three-way glance and all responded, “Yes?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title Gonji is derived from Mongolian imperial court titles and means a princess or noble woman of equivalent standing/power/authority. In persona, Kiana is the adopted daughter of the Khan. In practical terms we use the title to acknowledge that Kiana makes not only camp life, but the real life Blood Carnival event work.


End file.
